Smores over Felfire

“I’m telling you… this isn’t going to end well.” Aubrith warned as both she and her dwarven friend climbed the ramps to A’dal’s sanctuary.

“Bah! Vazian iz ah paladin, e’s goin’ to be pissed, aye. But the lad isn’t gonna break his oaths and kill us fer this.”

“Admit it Kithane, you just want to see if he’ll break.”

The dwarf smiled his customarily dark-and-scary grin. “Oh aye… thar’s a good chance o’ that.”

Aubrith grimaced, but continued walking with the priest until they both stood but a scant few feet from Vazian, who was kneeling in prayer. To Kithane’s credit, he started the conversation in the least-offensive manner possible: by letting Vazian finish his worship and initiating the pleasantries.

“Ah. Aubrith, Kithane, how strange it is to see you both here and not… out there.” He gestured toward the many portals around A’dal, indicating the outside world. “How may this servant of the Light assist you?”

“I hav’ a few questions concernin’ the ‘Light.’ And how it werks with ye.” Kithane began as he plopped down on the cool stonework. “When ye do that thing ye do… with the purgin’ of yer enemies an’ all that, how do ye’ do it.”

Vazian’s face contorted into a mask of confusion. “I… pull the Light’s power through me. Whether I consecrate the ground, exorcise a fel spirit, or empower my shield with protective wards, it all comes through the light’s strength.”

“An can ‘ye ‘consecrate’ and ‘exorcise’ without stop?”

“Well… no. The Light sees fit to limit my abilities, so that my hubris does not overtake my sense of duty.” Vazian looked a little annoyed at this point, Aubrith didn’t have to be tracking humanoids to see where this was going.

“Lemme ask ‘ye this: If I were to use the priestie spell ‘mana burn,’ would ye feel the pain?” Kithane said, head slightly tilted to show his curiosity.

“Aye. ‘Mana,’ as you call it, is the simple term for the essence that fuels what the Light does through me.”

“So, logically, when ye run out of mana, ye are without ability to do as the Light wills?”

Vazian’s hands tightened into a fist. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I am without the means to do as the Light commands, dwarf.”

Kithane kept pushing. “So t’be with an’ infinite source of mana, means that th’ Light has blessed ye with the means t’do its will without limit, aye?”

Vazian looked shocked. “Yes… have you found such a path?”

Kithane’s face broke into a wide smile, one that looked extremely predatory to Aubrith. “Oh aye, and I would happily share my revelation with ye should ye wish it.”

Vazian nodded, anxious anticipation apparent on his face. Kithane leaned in, motioning for Vazian to come close. Kithane whispered a single phrase in Vazian’s ear, and waited.

He didn’t wait long though.

In one swift, uninterrupted motion Vazian lifted Kithane by his beard and tossed him, face-first, into the nearest portal.

“It was worth it!” Exclaimed Kithane as he disappeared from Outland.

Aubrith looked shocked. She looked back and forth from the shimmering portal and the enraged paladin, trying to figure out what could cause such a reaction.

“Err… Vazian? You are aware you just threw him into the portal that leads to Silvermoon… right?” The paladin gave a curt nod. “What did he say anyway?

The paladin locked eyes with Aubrith. “He told me to become a warlock.”

As coffee with sargeras has ceased entertaining us with chat logs for the Scourge, I’m taking it upon myself to do so.

[LichKing]: OK… so this Fordring character is really starting to chaff my already scratchy ass.

[Marrowgar]: What is the problem?

[LichKing]: He’s relentless! First the fast one he pulled at Light’s Hope, then his constant yelling in the Fjord, then his little fort at Crusader’s Point, NOW he’s got his thrice-damned party which brings hundreds of noisy knight-wannabes to MY doorstep every day!

[Marrowgar]: You going to go deal with them?

[LichKing]: Nah, I totally got it covered, I sent over a fleet of Val’kyr to put the fear of me in them. I’m actually expecting them back any minute now.

[Deathwhisper has joined the channel]

[Deathwhisper]: My lord! My King! I bring urgent news most dire!

[LichKing]: … you could just say “hey, um, big news” you know…

[Deathwhisper]: Your favored Val’kyr, Fjola and Edyis, have been captured and are to be killed for sport at the Crusader’s Colleseum!

[LichKing]: Wow… I’ve got mixed feelings about this.

[Marrowgar]: How’s that?

[LichKing]: Think about it… they’re capturing and killing their enemies in a gaudy spectacle. Much like how the Scarlet Crusade does in the Scarlet Citadel back in the Eastern Kingdoms.

[LichKing]: If I didn’t hate them all with every fiber of my multiple-personality being, I’d be proud of them.

[Deathwhisper]: A cunning observation my lord!

[LichKing]: …right… anyway, I’ll just send the spider as a response.

[Marrowgar]: Anub?

[LichKing]: Why not?

[Marrowgar]: How many times do you plan to send that failbug out?

[LichKing]: Until the crusade figures out that hitting an undead spider isn’t the way to get rid of it. BURNING the corpse is.

[Marrowgar]: But why are you sending someone that was beaten, multiple times may I add, to the Colosseum?

[LichKing]: I sent him and the so called “Black Knight” because they are sub-par. Why would I send anything but the losers to their party?

[Marrowgar]: And the Val’kyr?

[LichKing]: One of them uses holy magic. Now I have no problem with using magic to kill, maim, and otherwise de-life-ify my enemies, but using holy magic?

[LichKing]: When you’re obviously unholy and evil?

[LichKing]: I can’t help but think something was off.

[Deathwhisper]: And you are so wise to do so great king!

[LichKing]: OK… Deathwhisper… you’ve got to lay off on the accolades. I’m trying to have a civil conversation and you’re perfecting the art of ass-kissery.

[Marrowgar]: You DID make a religion around worshiping you… so that kinda goes with the territory.

[LichKing]: I made you didn’t I? You’re not falling over yourself trying to impress me.

[Marrowgar]: Kel’Thuzad did that and you sent him out of the Citadel.

[LichKing]: Yeah, so?

[Marrowgar]: KT is also quite dead now.

[LichKing]: Are you saying I deliberately sent out Kel to die because he praised me?

[Marrowgar]: No, I’m saying that those who go looking for your approval tend to run out and get killed.

[Marrowgar]: I like it here.

[LichKing]: …That’s very insightful of you. I could use someone as intelligent as you out patrolling the ramparts.

[Marrowgar]: Damn it all…

[LichKing]: Oh I try to. Now get going.

[Marrowgar logs off]

[Deathwhisper]: Another excellent decision my great king!

[LichKing kicks Deathwhisper from the channel]

[LichKing]: It’s so hard to find good help these days…

[LichKing logs off]

“But where does all the gold go?!”

Odalrik sighed and silently wondered why Sedu could only conjure water and not something more useful… like Halaani Whiskey. “Just because most blacksmiths look like they just stand at their stall all day doesn’t mean that they don’t have expenses. Food, water, taxes, there are any number of bills that could eat up the money we pay them.”

The other patrons in the Filthy Beast occasionally shot them dirty looks, but by and large left the group of Alliance adventurers alone. It took guts to order drinks in a Horde bar… but the group bought their spirits here for a number of reasons:

1. It kept any dwarves from complaining to the management about “the inferior quality of these drinks in comparison to dwarven spirits.”
2. It was more fun to be in a horde bar given the underlying tensions
3. It’s much easier to carry on a private conversation when no one understands you.

“But, let’s think about this for a moment. I hand over about 200 gold a WEEK to these guys for my armor repairs. Food costs about 5 gold a month, water is about the same, so unless you’re suggesting that the king is taxing at about a 90% rate, the repairmen for the world are making gold statues of themselves with our excess cash!” Sedu shook his head in disgust. “Same thing for the Auction House, Innkeepers, and Profession Vendors! They’ve been bilking us out of our gold since day one, and we’ve done nothing to fix the situation!”

Halid smirked, fairly certain as to what was coming next. “So what do you want us to do? You called in two Night Elf rogues in a Horde tavern to lament about our place in the greater economy?”

Sedu shot an annoyed look at Halid. “No, I want you to sneak into the back rooms of a smithy and figure out where all the money is going.”

“And our payment?”

Sedu smiled. “I’m told that you have a certain priest on retainer that has been looking for one of these, and I’ve got ties with the Kirin Tor… since I am a mage.” He pulled out a small kitten carrier and placed it on the table.

The two rogues looked at each other, nodded, took the carrier and started for the door “We’ll be in touch, wait for us in the central gardens in two hours.”

———————————————————————————–

“So… what do you think the money is going to?” Sedu looked over at Elishan who was stacking the totems like a tower of primal power.

The shaman shrugged. “It could be for a charity, or a educational fund.” He paused thoughtfully, “or it could be that things like bread, water, and milk just cost more for people who aren’t waving weapons in your face.”

“Or it is because there are no weapons that they need that much money.” said Halid as both he and Odalrik step out into the garden. “Turns out that because they have not declared themselves adventurers… vendors, repairmen, etc. have a hell of a time dealing with insurance.”

“What insurance!?”

Odalrik looked annoyed, though not at the mage and shaman. “Resurrection for themselves, their families, and livestock. Repairs to their homes, replacement of damaged books, chairs, cooking utensils, this stuff is rediculously comprehensive.”

“And that’s where all the money goes? To some insurance company?” Sedu shot back.

“One company, it’s called ‘Blizurance’ and, for all I tried, I couldn’t find a single bit of information as to where their offices are!” Odalrik shook his head in disgust. “Especially for the amount of money they’re pulling in.”

“Well, we can convince a few of the vendors to stop paying them until we get answers!” Sedu replied. “I’m sure they have some extra cash stored away!”

“Sedu, most of these blacksmiths are in the red after the second scourge invasion a few months back! And after the mandatory adventurer discount for anyone who has been labeled “friendly” and above, most of the blacksmiths here are barely making their payments!” Halid shot back vehemently, musting much little more outrage than was typical. “These ‘Blizurance’ companies are bleeding the people of the Alliance AND the Horde dry! Hell… if we stop paying for our repairs, most of the shopkeeps in Stormwind, Ironforge, and Darnassus would go bankrupt within a week!”

Elishan looked at the two rogues, an expression of astounded admiration on his face. “Halid, I never knew you had this much compassion in you! Truly you must mourn for the poor in your cities!”

“Bah, I couldn’t care less about the fools in the city, they’ve been taking my money since I bought my first dagger.” Odalirk flopped onto a bench, looking forlorn. “I just wish I’d have known the insurance market was this lucrative before I became an adventurer.”

“But the Light is here!”

The gnome looked unconvinced and pointed at the goggles atop his pink hair. “No, THIS is here, my spectotropicscope 9001. See how I can touch, see, and smell it? That’s what makes it here and your hokey religion not.”

A small crowd started gathering in the middle of the cathedral. What started Twinkle Coppernugget’s stroll into the cathedral to talk about the masonry and glasswork seems to have evolved into something more.

“You want proof of the Light? You’re an adventurer! You’ve likely felt the cold hand of death pull you from beyond a hundred times over!”

“Oh I’ve done a great many stupid things in my life to be sure, human.” The gnome reached into his pockets and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. “But thanks to an invention my great-great-great-great-grandparents created, I’ve never felt the ‘cold hand of death’ for more than a few moments before my ectoplasmic-residual-self-image toddled itself back to the science-driven world we all know and love.”

The human took a very small step back, seemingly anxious and unwilling to be near the strange concoction. The dwarf behind him, however, confidently strode forward and held out his hand. “Yer knowledge is of the world, as is the Light. I’m not afeared of anythin’ the mad science of the world can make.” The gnome shrugged and handed over the glass. The dwarf uncorked the vial, paused a moment, and downed it all in one gulp.

The silence that followed lasted a full minute. The dwarf stood completely still, almost as if he were meditating. The human and gnome alternatively stared at the dwarf, then each other, then back again. Finally, after waiting for the concoction’s full effect, the dwarf heaved a deep sigh and spoke.

“Twinkle… ye wee – ahem – friend… that was a vial of water…”

“Well of COURSE it tastes like water!” Cried Twinkle amongst the groans of the onlookers. “By Bonzo’s Brass Buttons, why would my ancestors create a chemical that tasted horrid?”

“No… lad… Ah mean it’s water. There’s nothin’ magical, chemical, or scientific about it.”

“That’s the beauty of the concoction, it looks, acts, and smells just like water, so if I were to be captured, no one would want to take it!”

The dwarf threw up his hands in surrender and walked back to the alter. “Yer up.”

A draenei paladin, aglow in a radiant light, was next to approach Twinkle. Perhaps I can be of help here. Have you ever been to the Exodar friend?”

Twinkle nodded enthusiastically. “Why yes I have! The technology of your ship has always been of great interest to me, as it is leaps and bounds ahead of anything in this backwater city!” That last comment got more than a few grins from the dwarves and elves in the crowd as well as a few mutters from the humans.

“Then you have, of course, seen O’ros, the keeper of the ship?”

“Ah yes, the holographic projection of ‘Light’ that everyone in the city reveres. An odd practice, but it seems to have worked out well for you, I suppose.” Twinkle shrugged and produced a small disc and, with the push of a button, a miniature version of the Naaru popped up in its full three-dimensional glory. “As you can see, I’ve duplicated the-”

“Gnome… that’s no holograph, it’s a thinking-”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that it thinks. It is the mind of the ship.”

Before the paladin could respond, another individual  – somewhat shorter than a dwarf  and dressed in flowing robes crackling with arcane power -  stepped forward. “Perhaps I can help, noble paladin.” He said, his voice deep and resonating with confidence. The draenei, somewhat startled, nodded and stepped back. Twinkle looked curiously at the mage’s eyes, which seemed to glow with an odd yellow-white light.

“Err… do I know you?” asked Twinkle.

“My name is Alcii, a mage of some repute,” replied the archanist as he slowly walked around the circle of listeners. “Let me ask you this: are you comfortable saying that you’ve seen a mage use magic.”

“Err… yes?”

“And a warlock?”

“Of course.”

“And a Druid?”

“Yes, but I don’t get-”

“How about a priest, or paladin?”

“Yes, blast it all, what are you getting at?!”

“If mages receive their power from their minds, warlocks from their demons, and druids from nature, would it not stand to reason that priests and paladins draw their magics from somewhere?”

“I suppose so.”

“Why not something they call, ‘the Light’ then?”

Twinkle stood in quiet contemplation a moment to ponder this new revelation. After which, he nodded confidently and bowed deeply to the mage. “An astute observation sir! I should have known it would take the reasoning, logic, and mental power of another gnome like myself to-”

The air in the cathedral began to crackle with energy, the light began to flicker, and the breezes began to shift and funnel into the now-pulsing mage. His glowing eyes, almost lost in the shifting aura of power and arcane torrents, changed from their calm glow to a focused icy-blue. Twinkle jerked back up looking shocked and a little afraid. “What? What did I-”

Alcii’s right hand shot up from his side and pointed at the panicking engineer. As the very fabric of reality folded and tore behind the gnome to reveal a side-street in Darnassus, Alcii spoke: “My name is Alcii of Darnassus, foremost of the night-elf arcane society, and protector of Tendrassil!” From his hands came a blast of silvery light, knocking the gnome into the portal and nearly crashing into a patrolling night elf. “Do not return to Stormwind until you have repented of your arrogance!”

With that, the portal closed and the power dissipated.

“And that, friends, is why we never, EVER, mistake Alcii for a gnome.”

“So… I’m a little confused here. You were a loyal member of the Alliance before your death.”  Garrok said to his forsaken friend over a pint of ale in one of Dalaran’s many inns.

“Aye.”

“And, though you were ‘dead’ for all of ten minutes, you have lost your ability to speak Common completely?”

“Yyyup.” The rogue wasn’t drinking his ale, probably due to a number of small holes in his throat.

“So how does that work?”

“Well, it’s like this. Common is a very, VERY precise language. A slurred “r” here, a misplaced “s” there, and the average  human won’t understand a word of what you were trying to say.” The rogue drew a dagger and began to sharpen it, much to the discomfort of a nearby pair of Kirin Tor mages. “S’why they call our language ‘Gutterspeak.’ They understand enough for it to be considered ‘dirty common,’ not a new accent.”

“That doesn’t make sense though! Dwarves and Draenei have their own ridiculous accent! And gnomes speak several octaves higher than normal human speech!  How the hells does anyone communicate over there?!” Garrok shook his head in disgust and drained the rest of his ale.

“Garrok, I could ask you the same question.” The rogue sheathed one dagger and drew another. “How do blood elves, tauren, forsaken, and trolls all know Orcish, but Orcs don’t know any of our languages?”

Garrok sat quietly for a moment, mulling over the concept mentally. “OK, I give up, how?”

The rogue shrugged and kept sharpening his knives. “Beats me, I thought about it a few months ago, but don’t care enough.”

Garrok reached over to take the rogue’s ale, no sense letting it go to waste he thought as he began to nurse his second drink. Moments later, he stood up and gestured for the rogue to follow. Shrugging, the forsaken followed him outside and down into the sewers under Dalaran.

Garrok turned around and began to grumble something. Then, without warning the rogue felt like something was off… like he was-

He started cursing at Garrok, but none of the words coming out of his mouth made any sense to him. Garrok grinned and nodded to himself. “Well… you’re speaking flawless Demonic now… let’s see if this will work…” He turned to a nearby Dwarf and tapped him on the shoulder. The Dwarf turned and glanced up at the orc who was pointing very insistently at the annoyed-looking rogue but a stone’s throw away. The dwarf, holding up a cleric’s staff in a mildly defensive stance, then walked up to the rogue and waited. Garrok went into his same mumbling ritual and, moments later the Dwarf looked a little alarmed and immediately shielded himself in a glowing white light.

“Talk to him!” Garrok barked out to the rogue. The undead shrugged and began to speak.

Garrok looked down to his impish minion, awaiting his translation.

“Eh.. typical trash from a Forsaken talking to a Light-loving dwarf: ‘Why do you cling to your obsolete religion? Why are you so short? You should pray for longer legs.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

The dwarf was looking more and more frustrated as the rogue talked on. Then, after a few moments of silence, he started screaming back at the rogue. The imp translated it all back to Garrok, though most of the verbiage was not exactly “flattering” to a man of the cloth.

“But you understood it, all of it?”

“Oh yeah, but it’s mostly ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying, what the hells are you babbling about, etc. etc.”

Garrok nodded, “No matter, YOU understood it, so now all I have to do is find another Alliance warlock, convince him to be my lieason for the Alliance, and we shall break the language barrier once and for all!”

“Well yes… but I think you have a slight problem on your hands boss.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“You’re basically saying that, for any two people on opposite sides of a language barrier to converse, you need the services of two warlocks – who are universally looked down on because of how they fight – and their demonic minions – who most warlocks trust about as far as they can throw them.”

Garrok looked absolutely crushed, his ticket to untold wealth destroyed. “If you knew this all along, why didn’t you say something at the beginning!?” He yelled, startling the dwarf and forsaken into silence.

The imp shrugged. “Boredom?”

Garrok leared something that day: Imps can do many things, but they cannot, in fact, fly when thrown off a levitating city.